I’m halfway to my car when I hear Ethan’s voice calling out to me across the parking lot. Turning, I watch as he carefully makes his way through the slush and the ice and comes to a stop in front of me.
He didn’t bother to put on his coat before following me outside and shivers against the cold. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m not great, honestly, but I’ll be fine.” I think.
“Do you want me to come back to your place with you?”
“No.” I wince, hoping he knows this came out more abruptly than I intended. Attempting to tamp down my anger, I take a deep breath and give him a very wobbly smile; this isn’t his fault. I need to talk to Ami. I need to think and make some sense of how Dane had the balls to say something like that to me with his brother just feet away. I need to figure out what the hell I’m going to do for a job, immediately. I scrape the toe of my boot against a patch of ice. “I think I just need to go home and freak out a little on my own.”
Ethan tilts his head, gaze roaming my face deliberately. “Okay. But if you need me to come over, just text.”
“I will.” I pull my lips between my teeth, resisting the urge to tell him to come with me and be my sounding board. But I know that won’t work. “I’ll be terrible company tonight, but it’s still going to be weird sleeping alone in my own bed. You’ve ruined me.”
I can tell he likes this. He takes a step forward and bends to kiss me, deepening it gently, a tiny, sweet taste. When he pulls back, he runs a finger across my forehead. He’s so sweet. It’s started snowing again and the flakes flutter down to land on his shoulders, the back of his hand, the tips of his lashes. “You left really suddenly,” he says, and I’m not surprised that he can’t let it go. I’m acting like a maniac. “What happened when I was in the bathroom?”
I take a deep breath and slowly blow it out. “Dane said something kind of shitty.”
Ethan leans the tiniest bit away from me. It’s such a subtle gesture, I wonder if he even notices that he did it. “What did he say?”
“Why don’t we talk about this later?” I ask. “It’s freezing.”
“You can’t just say something like that and then call a rain check.” He reaches for my hand, but doesn’t squeeze it in his. “What happened?”
I tuck my chin into my coat, wishing I could disappear into it entirely, like a portable blanket fort. “He hit on me.”
A blast of wind whips across the front of the building, ruffling the front of Ethan’s hair. He’s looking at me so intently he doesn’t even wince at the cold.
“What do you mean, like . . .” He frowns. “Like, touched you?”
“No.” I shake my head. “He suggested Ami and I trade brothers for a little fun.” I have the urge to laugh, because saying it out loud makes it sound completely ridiculous. Who the hell does that? Who hits on his brother’s girlfriend, who is also his wife’s sister? When Ethan doesn’t say anything, I repeat it more slowly. “He wanted me to let him know if we ever wanted to mix it up, Ethan.”
A beat of silence.
Two.
And then Ethan’s expression turns quizzical. “ ‘Mix it up’ doesn’t necessarily mean, like, trade partners.”
Stay calm, Olive. I give him a meaningful stare and count to ten in my head. “Yeah. It does.”
His expression straightens again, and a hint of protectiveness creeps into his voice. “Okay, granted his sense of humor isn’t always appropriate, but Dane wouldn’t—”
“I realize this is shocking on a number of levels, but I do know what someone hitting on me looks like.”
He steps away, clearly frustrated. With me. “I know Dane is immature sometimes and sort of self-centered, but he wouldn’t do that.”
“Just like he wouldn’t lie to Ami for God knows how long while he banged whoever he wanted?”
Ethan’s face has turned a deep red. “I thought we agreed that we don’t know the situation there. It’s possible Ami already knows.”
“Well, have you asked him?”
“Why would I?” he says, hands waving in front of him like what I’m suggesting isn’t just unnecessary, it’s preposterous. “Olive. We agreed to let that go.”
“That was before he propositioned me while you were in the bathroom!” I stare at him, willing him to have some kind of reaction to this, but he’s just closed up on me, his face unreadable. “Have you considered that you’ve put him on some kind of pedestal—though for the life of me, I can’t understand why—and are incapable of seeing he’s a total sleaze?”
Ethan flinches, and now I feel bad. Dane is his brother. My instinct is to apologize, but the words are stuck in my throat, blocked by the enormous relief of finally saying what I think.
“Have you considered you’re seeing what you want to see?”
I straighten. “What is that supposed to mean? That I want Dane to hit on me?”
He’s shaking and I’m not sure if it’s from cold or anger. “It means that maybe you’re pissed off about losing your job, and you’re in the habit of being bitter about everything Ami has that you don’t, and you’re not objective about any of this.”
This feels like a physical punch to my stomach, and I take an instinctive step back.
Flames. On the side of my face . . .
His shoulders fall immediately. “Shit. I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.” I turn around and keep walking to my car. His footsteps across the salted sidewalk follow.
“Olive, wait. Come on. Don’t just walk away.”
I pull out my keys and fling open the door with so much force, the hinges groan in protest.
“Olive! Just—”
I slam the door and with shaking hands and numb fingers, jam my key into the ignition. His words are drowned out by the sound of the engine struggling to turn over. Finally it catches, and I shift into reverse, backing up. He walks alongside me; hand on the roof of the car as he pleads for my attention. It’s so cold I can see my breath in front of my face, but I don’t feel a thing. My ears are full of static.
He watches me leave, and in my rearview mirror I see him grow smaller and smaller. We have never been so far from that mountaintop in Maui.
• • •
THE DRIVE HOME IS A blur. I alternate between being mad at myself for all of this, terrified about my future income, furious at Dane, sad and disappointed over Ethan, and absolutely heartbroken for Ami. It’s not enough to hope that Dane will turn over a new leaf now that he’s married—he is a bad guy, and my sister has no idea.
I try not to be dramatic and overthink what Ethan said. I try to give him the benefit of the doubt and imagine how I’d feel if someone accused Ami of doing this. I don’t even have to think about it: I’d do anything for my sister. And that’s when it hits me. I remember Dane’s smiling face at the airport, and my shock today that he would hit on me with his own brother just a few feet away. Dane’s confidence in both cases isn’t about me or my ability to keep his secret. It was about Ethan and his inability to believe his brother would intentionally do anything bad. Ethan is his ride-or-die.
I consider going to Ami’s to wait for her, but if Ami was planning to meet us all at the restaurant, she won’t be there anyway. They’d come home together later, too. I certainly don’t want to be there when Dane gets back.
I didn’t think it was possible, but my mood plummets even more when I pull into my parking lot. Not only is my mom’s car there (and parked in my covered space), but so are Diego’s and my cousin Natalia’s, which means Tía María is probably here, too. Of course.
With my car parked on the other side of the complex, I trudge through the slush and up the stairs to my apartment. I can already hear Tía María’s braying laugh—she is my mother’s sister and the one closest to her in age, but the two of them could not be more different: Mom is polished and fussy; Tía Maria is casual and laughs constantly. And whereas Mom has only me and Ami (apparently having twins was plenty for her), Tía Maria has seven kids, each neatly spaced eighteen months apart. It wasn’t until I was in the fifth grade that I realized not everyone has nineteen first cousins.
Although our nuclear family is relatively small compared to the rest of the Torres and Gonzales crew, a stranger would never know that only four of us lived in our house when I was growing up because at least two other people were always there. Birthdays were enormous affairs, Sunday dinners routinely had thirty people at the table, and there was never any place to sulk alone. Apparently not much has changed.
“I’m pretty sure she’s a lesbian,” Tía María is saying as I close the door behind me. She looks up at the sound and points to Natalia. “Tell her, Olive.”
I unwind my scarf from around my neck and stomp the snow from my boots. After the slushy walk through the parking lot, my patience is already thin. “Who are we talking about?”
Tía Maria is standing at the kitchen counter, chopping tomatoes. “Ximena.”
Ximena, the youngest daughter of Mom and Tía Maria’s oldest brother, Tío Omar. “She’s not a lesbian,” I say. “She’s dating that guy, what’s his name?”
I look at Natalia, who tells them, “Boston.”
I snap, pointing. “That’s right. God, what a terrible name.”
“It’s what you name your dog,” Natalia agrees, “not your kid.”
I shrug off my coat and toss it over the back of the couch. Mom immediately steps away from the dough she’s rolling and crosses the room to pointedly hang it up. Stopping in front of me, she pushes my damp hair off my forehead.
“You look terrible, mija.” She turns my face from side to side. “Eat something.” Kissing my cheek, she heads back into the kitchen.
I follow, smiling gratefully when Natalia sets a cup of tea down in front of me. For as much as I complain about my family always being in my business . . . having them here is admittedly pretty great. But this also means I can’t avoid telling Mom that I was fired.
“A haircut doesn’t mean someone’s gay, Mom,” Natalia says.
Tía María looks up at her incredulously. “Have you seen it? It’s all short on the sides and blue on top. She did it right after”—she drops her voice to a whisper—“the wedding.”
Both Mom and Tía Maria make the sign of the cross.
“Why would you even care if she’s gay?” Natalia motions to where Diego is watching TV on my couch. “Diego is gay, and you don’t care about that.”
At the sound of his name he turns to face us.
“Diego came out of the womb gay,” Tía Maria says, and then turns to him. “I swear you had copies of Vogue under your mattress, instead of dirty magazines.”
“Nobody gets porn from magazines anymore, Mom,” Natalia says.
Tía Maria ignores her. “I don’t care if she’s gay. I just think we should all know so we can find her a nice girl.”
“She’s not gay!” Diego says.
“Then why did I find a dildo in her sock drawer?” Tía Maria asks the room.
Diego groans and pulls a pillow over his face. “Here we go.”
Natalia turns to face her mother. “She’s thirty-three. What were you doing in her sock drawer?”
Tía María shrugs as if this information is irrelevant to the story. “Organizing. It was purple and huge with a little”—she moves her finger in front of her to indicate what she means—“wiggly thing on one side.”
Natalia presses her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh, and I take a sip of my tea. It tastes like sadness and hot water.
My mom stops chopping and sets down her knife. “Why does that mean she’s a lesbian?”
Tía Maria blinks at her. “Because lesbians use those strap-on things.”
“Mom, stop,” Natalia says. “Lots of people have vibrators. I have a whole box full of them.” She waves in my direction. “You should see Olive’s collection.”
“Thanks, Nat.”
My mom picks up a glass of wine and takes a large gulp. “It seems smart to be a lesbian right now. Men are awful.”
She is not wrong.
I lean a casual hip against the counter. “So. Why are you guys cooking at my apartment?” I ask. “And when are you going home?”
Natalia turns off the stove and moves her pot to an empty burner. “Your dad needed some stuff at the house.” That’s it, that’s her entire answer, and in this family, it’s plenty: Dad rarely goes to the house—he lives alone in a condo near Lake Harriet—but when he does visit, my mom evacuates the premises immediately. The rare times she feels spunky enough to stick around, she’ll commit some pretty petty sabotage. Once, she pulled out his collection of vinyl records and used them as trivets and coasters. Another time, when he stopped by before a weeklong business trip, she put a whole fresh trout under one of the seats in his car and he didn’t find it until he got home. It was in August.
“I wish I’d been born a lesbian,” Mom says.
“Then you wouldn’t have me,” I counter.
She pats my cheek. “That’s okay.”
I meet Natalia’s eyes over the top of my mug and fight the laugh that is bubbling up inside me. I worry that if it escapes, it could turn into hysterical cackles that would immediately transition into choking sobs.
“What’s with you?” Tía Maria asks, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s talking to me.
“She’s probably tired from her new boyfriend,” Natalia sings and does a little sexy dance back over to the stove. “I’m surprised he wasn’t with you. We only came in because his car wasn’t out front. God knows what we’ll see.”
They all spin out of control about me and Ethan for a few minutes—
Finally! Se te va pasó al tren!
So perfect, so funny because they hated each other!
Twins dating brothers: is that even legal?—
before I’m able to get them back into orbit. Diego walks into the kitchen and burns himself sneaking something from the frying pan.
“I’m not sure we’re still a thing,” I warn them. “Maybe we are. We had a fight. I don’t even know.”
Everyone gasps and a small, dissociated piece of me wants to laugh. It’s not like Ethan and I have been together for years. My family just gets so immediately invested. But then again, so did I.
I can’t think about things with us being over. It pushes a spike of pain through me.
And wow did I kill the mood. I debate for about three seconds whether I’m going to bother telling them that I also lost my job, but I know I am. If Dane tells Ami, and then Ami talks to one of my cousins and Mom finds out that I got fired and didn’t tell her, she will call all of her siblings and before I know it, I will have forty text messages from my aunts and uncles all demanding that I call my mother immediately. Facing it now is going to be terrible, but it’s still infinitely easier than the alternative.
“Also,” I say, wincing, “I lost my job.”
Silence swallows us all. Slowly, very slowly, Mom puts down her glass of wine, and Tía Maria picks it up. “You lost your job?” Cautious relief takes over her face when she says, “You mean the Butake job.”
“No, Mami, the one I started today.”
Everyone gasps, and Diego comes up, wrapping his arms around me. “No,” he whispers. “Seriously?”
I nod. “Seriously.”
Tía Maria takes my hand and then glances at Mom and Natalia, eyes wide. Her expression screams, It is taking everything in me to not call everyone in the family right now.
But Mom’s focus on me remains intense; it’s the protective mama-bear expression that tells me she’s ready to battle. “Who fired my daughter on her first day of work?”
“The founder of the company, actually.” And before she can unleash a tirade about the grave injustice of all this, I explain what happened. She sits down on a barstool and shakes her head.
“This isn’t fair. You were in an impossible situation.”
I shrug. “I mean, it’s actually totally fair. I got a free vacation. I didn’t have to lie about it. It’s just my luck he showed up, and I got caught.”
Natalia rounds the counter to hug me, and I’m swallowing every few seconds just to keep from crying, because the last thing I want is for Mom to worry about me, when—although she doesn’t know it—she’s going to need to save all her maternal sympathy for Ami.
“Call your father,” Mom says. “Have him give you some money.”
“Mami, I’m not going to ask Dad for money.”
But Mom is already looking at Natalia, who picks up her phone to text my father on my behalf.
“Let me talk to David,” Tía Maria says, referring to Tío Omar and Tía Sylvia’s oldest son, the owner of a pair of popular restaurants in the Cities. “I bet he has a position for you.”
There are some benefits to having an enormous family: you’re never on your own to solve a problem. I don’t even care if David would have me washing dishes—the prospect of a job is such a huge relief I feel like I’m melting. “Thank you, Tía.”
Mom gives her sister a look. “Olive has a PhD in biology. You want her to be a waitress?”
Tía Maria throws her hands up. “You’re going to look down your nose at a job? Where’s her rent going to come from?”
“No one in this family is too good for any job that helps us pay our bills.” I step between them, kissing Tía Maria’s cheek and then Mom’s. “I appreciate any help I can get.” After Butake, I applied for all the local jobs I’m qualified for anyway, and only Hamilton offered me a position. Right now I’m so exhausted I’m not feeling picky. “Tell David I’ll call him tomorrow, okay?”
At this point in the day, I’m running on fumes. With at least one stress settled—the prospect of a job—my body deflates and all at once I feel like I could fall asleep standing. Although the food they’re making smells amazing, I know I’ll have a fridge full of it tomorrow and am not at all hungry right now. I throw a mumbled “Good night” to them and no one argues when I shuffle down the hall to my bedroom.
Flopping on my bed, I look at my phone. I have a couple of texts from Ethan I’ll read tomorrow, but I open my messages with Ami. She texted me about an hour ago.
Holy shit, Ollie! Dane told me about your job!
I just tried to call you!
I’ll call you tomorrow.
Okay, sweetie. Love you
Love you too
Dreading the conversation that I’m going to have with my sister tomorrow, I drop my phone onto my bedside table and pull the comforter over my head without bothering to get undressed. I close my eyes and fall into a restless sleep to the sounds of my family in the next room.
